The Golden Boy Image
by SpitefulPixiDust
Summary: Harry Potter is shattered by the death of his godfather and riddled with guilt. But when Harry saves a gorgeous boy from Dudley's gang of bullies, will love heal his agonies, or will darkness triumph, and consume the Golden Boy? DISCONTINUED.
1. Default Chapter

**A/N: I know I shouldn't be doing this because of my other fanfic-in-progress, but you see, this damned story was just sitting on my computer, and I kept thinking about it, and I couldn't help myself. For those of you who have read 'Stonewall High', let me assure you that this is not much like it, except for the punkish!gay!Harry bit. This isn't an AU, and any Draco/Harry relations won't pop up until later. Bear with me on this, please, and feel free to nag me if I begin to lag behind on either story. I don't really like this one...but dammit, I can't stop thinking about it.**

One warm summer night in Surrey, England, Harry Potter decided he was sick of being Harry Potter.

Of course, he wasn't stupid, nor was he selfish, and he knew he would never escape who he was. The savior of the wizarding world, everybody's Golden Boy, the Boy Who Lived. He was tired of it all: the war, the fighting, the political slander from the Ministry, fan letters and hate mail, people staring at his scar…and most of all, Harry was tired of his friends and family dying.

After Sirius had disappeared behind the Veil, Harry had fallen into a state of mind that those around him considered unhealthy, but which he actually quite liked. At first, he spent his days at the house on Privet Drive locked in his room, ignoring the Dursleys' angry demands, numb and unfeeling. When Uncle Vernon threatened to knock down the door, Harry had laughed humorlessly and dared him to try. His tone of voice scared the Dursleys, and they backed down, leaving him to his own thoughts.

Then, one day, about three weeks into his summer vacation, Harry was sitting at the window of his small bedroom, looking out at the street but not really seeing it—envisioning Sirius tumbling through the Veil, limbs flailing, eyes wide and helpless. He felt a twinge of despair at this, and then that wonderful-terrible feeling of not feeling came back over him, and he thought about not much of anything at all.

A sudden blur of movement on the street caught his attention, and when he looked, he saw a boy a bit older than himself running along, long legs eating up ground effortlessly. Curious, Harry watched him tear out of sight around the corner. Seconds later, a group of bigger boys thundered past, panting and sweating but keeping pace, determined looks on their faces.

Harry sighed when he recognized them as Dudley and his gang of bullies. Whoever that boy was, he was in for the beating of his life.

For the first time that summer, Harry felt his hero complex surface within him. He wanted to dart down the stairs, out the front door, and give chase. He wanted to save that boy.

**No**, he told himself fiercely. **You don't need to save everyone, you stupid git. Focus on saving the wizarding world, not some damned Muggle boy.**

Instantly upon thinking this, he was ashamed. He sounded like a Malfoy, as if he felt he was too good to bother with Muggles and their "petty" problems. Harry got up from his seat by the window, unlocked his door, and ran downstairs and out the door before Aunt Petunia even realized what had happened.

He ran around the house and through the back yard, leaping over the neighbor's prized rose bushes. He knew a shortcut, if the boy was heading to the park like Harry suspected he was. He hoped he wasn't too late.

If Harry had stopped to think about it, he would have realized that this was the most emotion he had been feeling ever since Sirius's death. Adrenaline pumped through his body, spurring him on, and his eyes were narrowed in anger. His heart thudded as he sprinted down a neighboring street. His wand was a comforting presence, tucked into the back of his pants under his shirt, where it had been since getting out of Hogwarts.

His feet pounded the pavement and his legs began to burn with an exertion he hadn't felt in weeks. The park came into view, unusually deserted for this time of day, and Harry was relieved to see the boy mere yards ahead of him, still running for all he was worth. Slowing, Harry glanced behind him and saw Dudley's gang behind him, their broad red faces pinched with confusion at his arrival. He stopped entirely and turned to meet them.

They, too, slowed, and came to a halt some distance away.

Dudley looked furious. His face was the color of a beet, and his fat torso heaved dangerously. He managed to gasp out a warning between desperate gulps of air. "What're….you doing here…you little freak…get outta…our way! Go home...before you get…_hurt_!"

"Don't you threaten me, Dudley," Harry said quietly, not at all winded. That curious feeling of numbness had returned, but it was different somehow. It wasn't really numbness at all anymore, but rather a sort of calm fury. He felt as if, in this state, he could do what was needed without fear of the consequences. He brushed his hand against his concealed wand, and smiled.

Something in his smile scared Dudley, but the fat blonde boy fought not to show it. He sneered. "And what d'you think you'll be doing to stop me from getting to the other freak?" he barked, gesturing somewhere behind Harry.

Harry didn't turn around to see if the boy was standing there. He just shrugged and stood his ground. "Whatever I have to, really."

Dudley's best friend, a sneaky, rat-faced boy named Piers Polkiss laughed outright. "C'mon, Big D, let's pound him!"

But Dudley had gone pale. He was a stupid boy, but he was not blind. He could see the tip of Harry's wand, which Harry had palmed and slid up his sleeve when no one was looking. He'd allowed Dudley a quick peek, and now gave him a nod to assure his cousin that yes, that was his wand, and yes, he would use it.

"We haven't got time for this," Dudley suddenly blurted out, curling his hands into fat, frustrated fists at his sides. His friends looked at him in confusion, but he turned about and began to waddle away in a casual manner. "Let's go, guys," he called back over his shoulder. "I wanna get a soda." Disappointed, confused, but obedient, the group of bullies trudged after Dudley, shooting Harry nasty looks before rounding the corner.

The adrenaline that had been rushing through Harry quieted, but he could still feel the quiet, tight rage that he now knew lay within him, and try though he might, the void that had blocked his emotions would not come back. He sighed, and started towards the empty swings.

"Oy," a voice behind him said, startling him badly, "how'd you do that?"

Harry had forgotten all about the boy he had been standing up for, and felt stupid. He turned to face the boy, and was embarrassed to feel his mouth gape slightly.

His face was lovely enough to be a girl's, with fine bones and strong cheekbones, and wide, hazel eyes, framed thickly with heavy black eyeliner. His mouth, though painted sooty black, was soft-looking and quick to smile. The boy's hair was short and spiked with gel on top, its natural color lost amid a sea of shocking traffic light red. He had a piercing in each eyebrow and a ring through his right nostril. He had broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist and long limbs, all encased in black material. His pants were baggy, and a bit plain; but his shirt was of torn fishnet with a black tank top over it. Silver bracelets clicked happily on his wrists as he raised one hand to shake Harry's.

Harry had little experience with people who dressed with a gothic fashion sense. Of course, he had seen them when the Dursleys took trips to the city and saw fit to bring him along; but in places like the Dursleys' sub division, simply no one dressed like this, and he knew of no one in Hogwarts who did either. Wizarding fashions were quite different from those of Muggles.

"Uhh, he's my cousin. He knew I'd get him in trouble with his mum," Harry lied. "New around here, are you?" he heard himself ask, and blushed.

The boy laughed and headed towards the swings. Harry followed after a moment. "Yeah," he said, looking around the pristine neighborhood with a pained expression. "Not really my scene, you know." He sat down on a swing and Harry sat next to him, feeling awkward but unable to walk away.

"Well, you may not know it by looking at me," Harry admitted, "but it's not my type of thing either."

The boy looked at Harry with friendly curiosity. "Really? Well, then, I suppose I should thank you for saving me. Those blokes were about to kick my arse!"

Harry leaned his head against the swing's chain. "I'm sure you could've outrun them. They get bored with pursuing people eventually, and then you're off scot-free 'till you see 'em again." He shot an unreadable look towards the boy. "I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Potter."

Was it his imagination, or did the boy's mouth go slack for half a second before he recovered and grinned engagingly? He said, "And I'm Ian Hale. Nice to meet you, Harry," and Harry thought he must have been mistaken; Ian Hale had to be a Muggle.

"Likewise…"

Ian smiled again, ebony lipstick framing straight white teeth, and Harry thought that maybe his summer was going to be a little better than he had expected. But even as he got to know Ian and liked him more and more, sitting on the swings with him until late at night, that quiet rage—directed at no one and nothing, everyone and everything—lay like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

**A/N: That's it, guys. Thanks for reading, and I'll respond to any reviews you'd care to send my way.**


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: Chapter two, up and ready.**

Now, nearly a month and a half later, he had reached a point where his tolerance hung by a thread. Sick of being Harry Potter, the problem solver with a thousand unsolvable problems of his own—and now he had another.

Because Harry realized he was gay.

He _liked_ Ian, and it wasn't platonic. Dudley's gang had been chasing Ian that day because of the rumor floating about that there was a fag in the neighborhood. It hadn't taken them long to figure out who, and they had sprung out at the poor boy while he was on his way to the store. Maybe Harry was imagining it, but Ian seemed to flirt with him frequently, and, far from being bothered by it, he flirted _back_. A relationship was just what he didn't need, but he found he craved it. Ian's smile, his laugh, the lightest of touches between them—it all haunted his dreams, driving him insane, making him miserable. He _couldn't_ be gay. But he was. He thought his life couldn't get any harder; but once again, the great Harry Potter had been proven wrong.

He tried to convince himself otherwise desperately, for more than a month. He thought of Cho and his crush on her; but in comparison to what he felt for Ian, it seemed paltry, stupid, and more of what was expected of him than what he actually wanted. He thought of Fleur, the girl with Veela blood, and remembered admiring, but not lusting after, her ethereal beauty. He pictured Hermione, sleek and beautiful at the Yule Ball, but could only think of her warmly as his best friend.

And when he thought of Ian—dreamt of him—his heart pounded, and his blood burned with desire.

Ian didn't know, of course.

Ian didn't know about a lot of things: the wizarding world, Harry's infatuation with him, the way Harry was treated at the Dursleys. As far as Harry was concerned, it would stay that way.

He felt a little sick, and very alone. The glowing face of Dudley's old digital watch told him it was two in the morning, and that he should be in bed, but he rarely slept these days. After debating with himself for several pointless minutes, he crept out of the room and downstairs, closing the front door behind him with barely a click.

Ian lived several blocks away, in a well-to-do section of the sub division. He lived with his mother, a prominent lawyer. His father lived in the States, because his parents were divorced. This hadn't affected him much, and he and his mother had an easy going, open relationship. She knew he was gay, and supported him wholeheartedly.

The glow of the television screen illuminated Ian's room, as Harry saw from outside the boy's window. Ian himself was lying half-propped on his bed, watching whatever was showing intently, idly chewing on one black lacquered fingernail. Harry rapped hard on the window, and sniggered when Ian cried out and tumbled onto the floor. Relieved to see his friend and not a mass murderer, but a little peeved nonetheless, Ian crawled to the window and unlatched it. Harry climbed in, smiling a little.

"What the _hell_, Harry!" Ian hissed, but he seemed pleased to see him.

Harry shrugged, not wanting to tell the truth. Not wanting to tell Ian that all he'd been doing night after night was laying awake, thinking about him. "I'm bored," he said instead, not a lie, "so I thought I'd pop on over. Not like you sleep much anyway."

Ian shrugged. "Good point." He gestured toward the TV screen. "I'm watching The Ring and nearly pissing myself. That girl is _creepy_. Care to watch it with me?" He climbed back onto his futon and patted a space next to him invitingly. Harry swallowed, suddenly nervous. What had possessed him to visit Ian at two A.M.?

"O-okay," he answered, straining to sound casual. He perched tensely next to Ian and focused with ridiculous intensity on the movie.

After a few minutes, during which a dead girl clawed her way up a well, slid from a telly screen, and killed a man, Harry realized Ian had not been exaggerating when he'd said the movie was piss-your-pants scary. Without really paying attention, he scooted closer to Ian, and it barely registered when Ian slid his arm around Harry's small waist, tugging him closer.

"Oh, Merlin," Harry whispered, as the dead girl appeared on screen again, "this is freaky…" He jumped and gasped, digging his nails into Ian's arm unintentionally as the background music suddenly reached a spectacular crescendo. Blushing, and thankful for the darkness of the room, he turned to Ian to apologize, startled to find his pale, lovely face mere inches away from his own. "Uh…sorry, mate, didn't mean to hurt--"

"S'okay," Ian murmured. The light from the telly danced off his features, a fascinating play of muted color and shadow that Harry could not seem to look away from. "Harry, I…" Ian began, but Harry cut him off by closing the distance, and when their lips touched, ever so gently, they were lost.

They did not think; they only felt, and the morning sun crept in to find them lying entwined together on Ian's bed, small smiles on their sleeping faces.

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Harry had never been so reluctant to go back to Hogwarts. He wanted to stay on Privet Drive, Dursleys be damned, and spend every hour of every day with Ian. Their relationship had solidified and strengthened into love in a matter of weeks, and Harry's quiet, insensible rage had tucked itself away somewhere deep within him, where he didn't have to deal with it. He loved Ian, and was happier than he had been in years.

The Dursleys refused to take him to Platform 9 and ¾ this year—"You're old enough to have found your own way by now, boy!" Uncle Vernon said smarmily--and Harry had not heard from Ron and Hermione all summer (whether that was on Dumbledore's orders, or his friends' own decision, he had not yet decided). By the time he received his letter, he realized he would have to take care of himself this year, and made plans to catch the Night Bus for Diagon Alley for school shopping a few days before Hogwarts was back in session.

He put it off for as long as he could, but finally, the day came that he had to lie to Ian again.

"Ian…" he began, not meeting his boyfriend's eyes, "I'll be leaving tonight."

Ian looked surprised and dismayed. "So early? But Harry, you said school didn't start until another week!"

"The Dursleys won't take me this year," Harry explained, trying to instill as much truth as he could in the lie. "And normally, by now, I'm staying with my friends, so it's not much of a problem. But this year, my friends haven't contacted me, so I have to go a little early to get school supplies. I'll be staying in an inn until it's time for school to start again." Harry had led Ian to believe he attended a small, expensive private school in Sweden **(A/N: I know that's stupid, but I couldn't think of anything else!)**, and Ian hadn't questioned it. "I'm sorry, love; I wish I could stay and spend more time with you." He leaned forward, cupping Ian's slender hand in both of his and kissing it softly.

Ian's expression was suddenly strange, both anxious and tentatively happy. "Harry, I have to tell you something."

"Whoa, you sound serious," Harry replied, a little worried. "Is something wrong?"

Ian's hazel eyes darkened with an emotion Harry couldn't quite name…was that shame? "I…I've been lying to you, Harry. I'm not what you think I am."

"What do you mean?" Harry pulled his hands away from Ian's. "You've lied to me? About what?" He knew it was unfair to feel hurt—after all, he had been lying to Ian since the day they had met—but nevertheless, he felt an pang in his chest, and the quiet fury in his stomach stirred like a sleeping dragon. Ian hadn't answered, looking apprehensive. "_What_ did you lie to me about?" Harry insisted.

"Love, please. You know I'd never do anything to hurt you. I think I loved you the first time I saw you, standing up for me so bravely…wand tucked into your sleeve." Ian nodded as Harry's mouth went slack with realization. "I'm so sorry…I know everything. I know who you are to the wizarding world. I'm a wizard, too, Harry."

Ian braced himself, waiting for Harry's scream of anger, his broken sobs, anything. Anything but what Harry actually did.

The Boy Who Lived threw himself upon his partner and kissed him fiercely. "Yes, yes," he whispered, almost in tears. "Ian, baby, sweetie, thank you, thank you!"

Ian accepted the Harry's embrace, stiff with shock. "Harry…you aren't mad at me? Not that I'm complaining," he was quick to add when Harry pressed his lips feverishly against his own.

"Mad at you? This is what I've wished for, Ian! I don't know if I could have handled lying to you much longer; I can't imagine getting through the school year without you. I've…I've been going through a lot lately…" Harry was suddenly struck with a horrible thought. "You _are_ going to Hogwarts, aren't you?"

Ian's heart ached for him. He nodded and pulled Harry closer, nuzzling his cheek. "I didn't tell you at first, because I wanted you to know that I liked you for _you _and not because you're the famous Potter boy. I wanted you to trust in my love and never doubt my feelings for you. Do you understand?"

And Harry did. He understood perfectly.

"Come with me," he told Ian, standing up. "Pack your trunk and whatever else you need, and come with me to Diagon Alley for the week. We'll get a room together, board the train together…what house are you in? Have you been sorted? Your mum's a witch, then?" His mouth couldn't keep up with his thoughts.

Ian laughed happily, so relieved to have Harry taking it all so well. "I'd love to come with you, Harry. I'll start packing right now. Mum's not a witch, Dad's a wizard. I haven't been sorted yet—Dumbledore's made arrangements to have it done privately after the first years are sorted. D'you think I'll be in Gryffindor, then?"

Harry grinned. "I think so. Merlin, Ian, this is going to be so wonderful…seeing you everyday, maybe even waking up next to you every morning, having classes together and holding hands in the ohmotherofMerlinshit!" Harry's face went slack, and he sat down, hard, on the floor.

"Harry!" said Ian, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"M-my house. My schoolmates…my friends. They don't know I'm gay."

Ian shrugged, biting his lip. "I figured as much, love. Rumors in the Daily Prophet and all have you fucking every girl within a ten mile radius. If even one student at Hogwarts knew, it'd be all over and everyone would know. I mean…I don't think even you realized it 'till this summer, right?"

Harry nodded, looking a little bitter. Ian was disturbed to see tightly controlled emotion swim into his eyes briefly. "The Golden Boy," he hissed. "The savior. That's all I am to them. A figurehead. Won't this be a shock!"

Ian felt a stab of worry. He slid a comforting arm about his partner's shoulders. "I understand, love. We'll be the best of friends when others are around, and lovers when they aren't, alright?" He held his breath, waiting.

To his delight and relief, Harry shook his head firmly. "No, Ian. I love you. It's not something to be ashamed of, and I won't hide it." He buried his head in the curve of Ian's throat, sighing. Ian cuddled him close.

"Turn me into something else," he demanded unexpectedly, pulling away from Ian to look him in the face. Ian looked at his partner, a question in his eyes.

"Something darker than golden," Harry elaborated. His fingertip traced the dark line of makeup smeared around Ian's eyes, and Ian shivered as Harry's finger slid down his cheek and brushed against his kohl-smeared mouth. "I don't want to be what they want me to be," Harry whispered. He touched the metal ring that graced Ian's nose, and Ian realized what he meant.

"You…you sure, Harry? I mean, that's a bit of a radical change, don't you think?"

Harry thought back to the nights he had stood in front of the mirror in his little bedroom, hating what he saw, hating this person they were pressuring him to be. He thought about Ian, about the strange, dark allure he carried, that beautiful aura of sexuality and rebellion. He nodded. "Yes. This is what I want. I want to shock them. I want to be someone else for a change." He stood up again, excitement coming back in a rush, and tugged Ian to his feet, as well. "Come on! I have plenty of money—I had some transferred to Muggle currency before I came home at the beginning of the summer—and we have plenty of time before we should flag down the Night Bus. Let's go to the mall!"

Ian's eyes lit up, met Harry's, and narrowed in speculation. "Let's see now…" He whooped with delight, clapping his hands together. "I am going to make you utterly gorgeous, baby…more so than you already are!"

**A/N: I hate to do this, but I'm going to hold off on responding to my reviews for the time being. I promise that I'll do it in the next chapter, but for now, I'm exhausted from Christmas shopping, and I have to go out to do some more in a few moments. Thank you to those that reviewed, however, and I'm working on updating Stonewall High, as well.**


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: Short, but enter Draco. I hope you all enjoy--and don't forget to review if you'd like.**

Hermione searched Platform 9 ¾ anxiously. Where was Harry? She knew she had been ignoring him all summer, and felt guilty about abandoning him when she was sure he needed comfort because of Sirius's untimely death. But Dumbledore had warned her and Ron to keep all communication with Harry limited and rather obscure, and knowing how much Harry hated vague reassurances and meaningless chatter when so many more important things were happening, she had not written him at all. Besides, her friendship with Ron had escalated into something more, something deeper—Merlin only knew _how_—and she had, admittedly, been engrossed in their blossoming relationship. Now, standing on her tip toes on the train platform and scanning the crowd with nervous eyes, she felt weighed by guilt and wished she did not have to face what she was sure would be Harry's coldly angry visage.

But she couldn't even find him! Where was that boy? She hoped nothing had happened to him, and she worried over it for some time before Ron rushed up to her and kissed her cheek. "C'mon, 'Mione," he said, quietly. "The train's boarding. I'm sure everything's okay…I mean, maybe Harry's already on the train, wondering where in the bloody hell _we _are." Uncertainly, she nodded and boarded the Hogwarts Express with her boyfriend.

Ron was worried about his mate, too, and feeling guilty about the careless lack of communication over the summer. He didn't want to show his feelings to Hermione, unless he encourage her own brooding, so he tried to act casual and led the way to their usual compartment—the one they had all shared before Ron and Hermione had become Prefects, that is.

The compartment was not empty, as they had expected, but occupied by two strange looking boys. Ron immediately felt uncomfortable around them, and Hermione stepped back out into the hallway, grimacing. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Just looking for my friend, didn't mean to disturb you." He began to step back out into the hall.

"Ron," said one of the boys, uncertainly. _That voice—it's Harry!_ Ron thought. Immediately, he felt foolish, but when he turned to look at the young man questioningly, his mouth flopped open and his eyes bulged.

"H-Harry!" he stuttered stupidly. The boy smiled. Behind him, Hermione let out a soft shriek that nonetheless echoed down the corridor.

This was not Harry Potter. This _couldn't_ be Harry Potter!

His glasses were gone, probably replaced with contacts, and without the bulky rims to soften his features, the first thing to leap out at Ron and Hermione was the intense, somewhat cold emerald of his eyes and the sharp, angular beauty of his face. His eyes were smudged with black kohl and neon green eyeshadow, stark against the healthy tan of his skin. A small black ring adorned the center of his bottom lip, and piercings glinted in each of his ears. His hair was every bit as untidy as usual, but now it was gelled to look as if it was meant to be that way, and tipped with silver. He had styled it in a way that effectively hid his scar better than his bangs had ever managed. His clothes were form-fitting, showing off his slender build and muscles usually hidden by Dudley's enormous cast offs, and consisted mostly of leather and fishnet.

"Ohh," Hermione moaned, clutching at Ron's rigid arm, "ohh, Harry, Harry, no, what have you _done_ to yourself? What _happened_ to make you want to be this?"

It was the wrong thing to say. The tentative smile Harry had been wearing vanished in an instant, and when he spoke, his voice was cold. "Hello to you, too, Hermione. Ron." With a curt nod, he sat back down by the other boy and gazed out the window, back stiff. The boy next to him, who had violently red hair and multiple piercings, glared at Ron and Hermione, and put a reassuring hand on Harry's arm. Harry glanced at him, tried to smile, and looked back out the window.

Ron and Hermione stood stupidly in the doorway to the compartment, stunned and unsure how to treat this new development. Ron finally cleared his throat after many uncomfortable moments.

"Well, umm, yes. Hermione and I have to be making our way to the Prefects' section now. Harry…we'll see you later…and we'll talk then." With that, Ron grasped Hermione's arm and made a hasty exit.

The sudden silence in the compartment was stony, and Ian gently grabbed Harry's face, tilting it towards him. "Harry, darling—" he began, but stopped short. He didn't see the hurt he had expected, but rather, a cold, bitter sort of pleasure. Harry seemed to have expected—even wanted—such a rejection. "Harry?" he asked, his confusion plain.

"Suddenly, I'm not their Golden Boy," his partner answered, his voice sharp. "Not anymore." And when Harry smiled, it was almost cruel.

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Draco Malfoy settled himself onto one of the Prefect carriage's plush leather seats next to his Slytherin housemate and fellow Prefect, Pansy Parkinson. His trademark smirk faltered momentarily as she wrapped her arms around his and gave him a hug hard enough to crack his back. "Off," he gasped, trying to sound menacing. She complied, beaming at him.

"Drake," she gushed, "how was your summer? I've _missed_ you!"

Draco scowled irritably. "Drake-_oh_," he corrected. "It's Draco, Pansy, and this is the last time I'm going to tell you this. And my summer bloody sucked. I got kicked out of the bloody fucking house." He crossed his arms, leaned back, and glared around at the nearly empty carriage. None of the other houses' Prefects had arrived yet.

Pansy gaped stupidly at him. "W-what? You got kicked out of Malfoy Manor? Are you joking?"

"I wish I was," he muttered, thinking, **Bloody cow. Am I joking? ****Merlin.**

"That's simply horrid, Drake! I can't believe it. What about your parents? What about—sweet Merlin—what about your _fortune_?"

Draco felt the urge to flail about, perhaps hitting Parkinson soundly but accidentally, but he quelled it, if barely. Indignant rage and disbelief rushed through him like it had been doing intermittently all summer, ever since his father had disowned him. "It's gone," he spat. "It's not _my_ fortune anymore." Pansy just kept staring, and finally, he sighed and continued. "I refused the Dark Mark, Pansy."

Pansy gasped. "But—why are you still alive?"

Draco winced in understanding. If not for Dumbledore's protection, he would have been dead; but he had told his father in private, not at one of the weekly Death Eater meetings, and he had invoked the protection the elderly Headmaster had offered to him. Lucius could not have risked breaking that protection without Voldemort's permission, and Draco had been long gone by the time his father had contacted the Dark Lord.

"You are not my son," his father had hissed as Draco slung one hastily packed bag over his shoulder and made for the door as quickly as possible. "I have no son." **Bastard**, thought Draco, remembering how he had spent the rest of the summer in a drafty, temperamental old castle provided by Dumbledore with only half-sane, ridiculously chipper house elves for company.

He opened his mouth to explain all of this to the ever-attentive Pansy, but held his tongue as the Gryffindor Prefects barged in. Weasley and Granger were holding hands, looking pale and shocked. He supposed they were now a couple—how sickeningly predictable. Draco took careful note of the worry and astonishment in their eyes, and decided to prod at them a little.

"Why, if it isn't the Weasel and the Mudblood," he remarked snidely as the two Gryffindors stumbled to their seat in what seemed like a daze. "Got together over the summer, did you? How perfectly horrid. Why, before we all know it, you two'll have a little ramshackle house, and too many children, all running around with bushy red hair and buck teeth—"

"Shove it, Malfoy," Weasley said halfheartedly, almost as if he hadn't really heard. He looked at Granger, and she at him. "What's happened to Harry?" he said to her, voice desperate and lost. Malfoy grew silent, and motioned for Pansy to remain so. He leaned forward a little. But Granger shook her head and shot Weasley a warning look. Weasley flushed and glanced at the Slytherins, then took his girlfriend by the hand to the other end of the carriage, where they continued their conversation in hushed whispers.

"Damn," Draco muttered. What had happened? Something was wrong with Potter? He burned with curiosity.

The carriage was filling quickly with the Prefects, all chattering and happy to be back in school. Draco sat and sulked, pretending to listen to Pansy as she went on and on about how horrible it was that he had been disowned, and to the Head Boy and Girl as they explained the duties of Prefects this year.

**Merlin**, he thought, cringing as Pansy leaned a little too close and he could smell breakfast on her breath, **this year is going to be bloody awful.**

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**Response to the Reviews:**

**blackreflectednightmare: Well, I'm recovered, so here's another, albeit short, chapter for you! I'm so glad you enjoy my stories, and thanks for reviewing!**

**alyse: Thank you. I hope you liked this chapter, as well.**

**t-oconnor: Heehee, thanks!**

**Raven's Light: Your opinion means a lot to me, now that I've spoken to you and all...so thank you!**

**Dea Puella: O.O That IS freaky! Thanks for the review...but geez, I can't get over that...that image...**

**Siren of Hell: I'm reluctant to make Ian a terribly lovable character, because eventually he'll be edged out by Draco, and I don't want people to start screaming at me about it. Lol. Thanks for the advice, though--and the review!**

**Twisted Crimson: I love the rebel!Harry thing, don't you? Thanks!**

**driven to insanity: Heehee, thanks! More for you!**

**iced-forest: Your favorite of favorites, perhaps? Woo hoo! And Christmas is over, and yes, my fingers are firmly superglued to the keyboard.**

**LJMHarry: I would make the chapters longer, but a lot of my family is staying with me, and some friends now, as well, and I don't have too much computer time, and won't for awhile. Sorry. Get anything good for Christmas? Thanks for your review!**

**ura: Thank you!**

**lita-2003: Thanks! Is this one soon enough for you? **

**Skyla Gerdes: Three, and counting!**

**Squirrelswillrule: And where exactly is the libre piercing...? Around the mouth, I know...but any farther than that, and I'm clueless. Thanks for the review!**

**Mistress Vamp: Well, wait no more! Heehee. Thank you!**

**tnr: Thank you. I suppose this means you've been reading Stonewall High, as well? Heehee.**

**fudgebaby: Like I told Mistress Vamp: Wait no more! Thanks!**

**Sandalino Silvio Leif: Continuing, continuing. Thank you for reviewing!**

**sarah-928: Thanks for the reassurance, and for the review, as always.**

**Lady of the Rivers: Patience, my lady (heehee corny pun), Draco WILL be with Harry, we're working up to it. Thanks!**

**enamoringfixation: Yes, Harry does go kind of punktastic-gothic. Thanks for reviewing!**

**niceven: Thank you for the review and the offer; I'll certainly email you if I begin to lag.**

**Lo26: Thank you, and Happy...somewhat belated...Holidays to you, too!**

**K:...I'm hurrying.**

**angelkitty77: Yep, Harry's gone goth. Thanks!**

**Okay, everyone, that's it a belated and somewhat crappy Christmas present to all of you! (Or Hannukah present...or any other kind!)**


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: I am so freaking inconsistant with my chapter lengths. It annoys the hell out of me, but I couldn't figure out how to break this one up. Enjoy!**

**By the way, this chapter contains a lot of random outbursts AND over reactions. So don't tell me, "OMG! They so over reacted! What's wrong with yooooou?" Because I know! I couldn't help myself.**

Harry and Ian were not bothered again, and they took advantage of their privacy, using the half hour or so to snog each other senseless. By the time the train pulled into the Hogwarts station, they were both attired in their robes and looked breathless and flushed. They exited the carriage, and Ian looked around in awe.

"Wow, Harry," he breathed, the humid night air closing about them thickly. "Rumsdell was nothing like this. Nothing so magnificent…" Rumsdell was the small, private wizarding school Ian had attended until now, when his father had felt the tutelage to be too specialized. **(A/N: bangs head on keyboard Stuuupid, stupid stupid stupid! I know!)**

Harry grinned at Ian's amazement, admiring the way the evening light illuminated the pale curve of his cheek. He brushed his fingers against Ian's skin, smiling at the slight shudder that racked the taller boy. They clasped hands, and Harry glanced around. In the poor lighting, with his new appearance, no one had yet recognized him, and the crowd around them gave the two boys a wide berth as they trundled towards the boats. "Are they gay or something?" "I've never seen them before, who're they?" "Are they holding _hands_?" The whispers followed them as they slid into a small rowboat and Harry grimaced. Though he could escape recognition, maybe he would never escape the attention.

Ian gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Harry smiled at him, then laughed as the boat took off and Ian jerked, badly startled. "Calm down, babe," Harry murmured, "it'll be over in a moment."

Several minutes later, the students began to pour into the Great Hall. The First Years were separated from the others to be sorted, and the other students filed to their respective tables. Harry dragged Ian to the Gryffindor table, because for the moment he had nowhere else to sit. He ignored the inquiring looks of his housemates who did not yet recognize him as their friend, and settled down to watch the Sorting. Ian clung to his arm anxiously, shooting nervous glances at the people surrounding him and shifting uncomfortably. Ron and Hermione sat several seats down, trying to catch Harry's eye and failing.

The Sorting Hat was brought out and sang its song—an unmemorable little ditty about the Houses uniting for the good of the wizarding world, as always. Children were placed under the hat and shuffled off to their tables, and the whole business went by rather quickly. There were far less First Years than normal, and Harry wondered if it was because of the looming threat of war. He shrugged it off.

As the applause for the last First Year—Zaroff, Ginger—died down, Dumbledore stood, smiling his benign, twinkling old-man smile. "All of you," he wheezed to the now-silent Hall, holding out his hands in a gesture of welcome, "welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Though a dark threat looms over us all—and I hope I don't have to elaborate on what that threat is—I hope we can have a truly wonderful year. For those of you who are new to the school, and for those of you that aren't but may need your memories refreshed"—his eyes flicked briefly to Harry, showing not the slightest hint of surprise at his drastic change—"the Forbidden Forest is off-limits. Our custodian, Mr. Filch, has been so kind as to post an ever-growing list of forbidden items on his office door, so please be sure to take a look if you happen to be wandering past. We have another new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Madam Tinny." Polite applause for a small, delicate looking witch with sedate brown hair filled the hall and died down. Ian settled closer to Harry, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder. "And with that," Dumbledore continued, "I will leave you to your dinners!" With a clap of his hands, food filled the previously empty plates before them, and Ian gasped with delight.

Harry smiled at him. "It's not likeRumsdell at all," Ian explained. "House elves took care of things like this. This whole place…it's just really great…" Words failed him and he took to studying Harry as he piled food onto his plate. The boy's eyes still held a hint of emotionless cold in them, and he refrained from looking at anyone but Ian.

"Harry. Love. Are you sure you're alright?"

Harry sighed. His arm snaked its way around Ian's slender waist. "I'm fine, baby. This is what I wanted, right? To change. To put a stop to that bloody fucking Golden Boy image. Still…a part of me—a large part, truth be told—expected Ron and Hermione to welcome me with open arms; to accept what's been happening to me, and understand. They didn't write to me this summer, that's what really gets to me. Did Dumbledore forbid them…or did they just forget about me?"

Ian remained silent, trying to figure out what to say to make this hurt go away. Before he could work it out, Harry's cat-like emerald eyes caught his gaze; for a moment, he couldn't breathe.

They were stunning, sharp with icy rage; and just below the anger, was that pain? Pain so intense it was almost agony?

Or…was it hate?

"H-Harry, you…you—I…" He fell quiet, mouth open, shaking slightly. He'd never seen Harry like this. How long had he been this way—how long had he felt this way?

But suddenly, the rage was gone and in its place was the sweet, slightly sad expression he'd always known Harry to wear.

"Eat up, Ian," his boyfriend said softly. "Tomorrow will be a long day, and you've yet to be sorted."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

From across the room, Draco Malfoy was concentrating on his plate with manic intensity, refusing to look at anyone. The sound of footsteps approached his seat, and he gritted his teeth, waiting. This was the sixth Slytherin to do this.

"Draco, tell me it's not true!" Theodore Nott exclaimed, moving as if to touch Draco's shoulder. A quick, vicious glare from the young Malfoy stopped him in his tracks, but he remained where he was, waiting for an answer.

"What?" Draco ground out, looking back down at his plate.

"People are saying that you…well, that you refused the Dark Mark. That you've been disowned. It's not true, right? Right?" Nott leaned down. "You wouldn't refuse to serve the Dark Lord, Draco…would you?"

Draco snapped.

He stood up so quickly that his plate of food went flying, splattering Pansy and Millicent Bulstrode with roast chicken. Both girls let out little screams that rang out across the Great Hall and brought everyone's attention to where Draco stood, trembling with irritated rage.

"_YES I BLOODY WELL WOULD AND YES I BLOODY WELL DID!" _he shrieked at Nott, who backed away fearfully. "_HE'S A FOOL WITH A HOPELESS CAUSE, YOU BLATHERING IDIOT! HE'S DOOMED TO FAIL!" _He advanced on Nott, backing him into the wall. Draco flung his arms out violently. _"POTTER ALWAYS WINS! DON'T YOU GET IT? HE **ALWAYS** WINS! THE DARK LORD WILL FALL, THE WHOLE LOT OF DEATH EATERS WILL BE SHOVED INTO AZKABAN, AND POTTER WILL ORCHESTRATE IT ALL WITH SOME BLOODY INSUFFERABLE GRYFFINDOR SMILE ON HIS FACE! I WILL **NOT** BE ON THE LOSING SIDE!"_

"Mr. Malfoy! That is quite enough!" McGonagall was striding through the tables of dumbfounded students rigidly, face pink.

All of a sudden, Draco realized what he had just done. "Ah, bugger," he muttered, tilting wide silver eyes towards the enchanted ceiling. At McGonagall's terse order, he sat back down, flushed with embarrassment.

The sound of McGonagall's sharp heels rapping their way back to the teachers' table was the only sound in the dead silent hall; there wasn't even the slightest clatter of a fork.

Ashamed, Draco snuck a glance at the Gryffindor table, searching for Potter's reaction. But…Potter wasn't even there! What?

A low laugh finally broke the silence and began to grow in volume until the person from whom it was issuing was almost in hysterics. Eyes narrowed, Draco searched for the offender, along with the rest of the Hall's occupants, and gasped at what he saw.

"Who in the bloody hell…" he muttered, staring. The boy was unlike anything he'd ever seen before, and wickedly beautiful.

"Oh, only you, Malfoy," the boy said into the ringing quiet. "Only you would leave the Dark Side because you don't want to _lose_. Only you would forsake everything you've been brought up to believe just to avoid bowing down and getting your robes dirty." The boy laughed again.

That voice…it sounded so familiar.

And then it hit him with all the force of a bag of bricks.

"_P-P-POTTER?"_ Draco shrieked without meaning to. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw McGonagall half-rise from her seat, and lowered his voice. "W-what happened to you? Where are your glasses? What did you do to your hair? You…you…look different," he finished lamely.

Potter smiled at him disquietingly. Mutters had arisen from all the houses, and Draco could catch snippets here and there: "That's not _Harry_ Potter, is it?" "Oh, Merlin! What's happened to him?" "I think he's fuckin' gorgeous!" "Look! Has he got his arm about that other boy?!"

"The war's on, Malfoy," Potter told him from across the Hall. "We're all changing."

But Draco barely registered this, because he was too busy focusing on the last comment he'd heard. Upon closer inspection (after standing up again, blatantly ignoring McGonagall's exasperated order to plant his hind quarters back down), he saw that Potter did, indeed, have his arm tightly around the waist of the equally strange, but not nearly as attractive, bloke seated next to him.

The roar of conversation filled the Great Hall again, no doubt all about Potter, whose little stunt had far out-shadowed Draco's own, as usual. This time, however, he found he didn't mind as he slowly sat back down in shock.

What the hell was going on? Potter had gone gothic and gay, and he, Draco Malfoy, had gone over to the Golden Boy's side?

He groaned and put his head on the table, thinking, **The whole fucking universe has gone mad.**

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Ian looked at Harry with wide eyes. "What was all that about?"

"Draco Malfoy," Harry answered, looking happier than he had all day. Ian felt a pang of jealousy towards the boy who'd gotten Harry to smile like that, and ignored it, feeling stupid. "He's an insufferable git that's been tormenting me for years, and an apparently former supporter of Voldemort."

"Harry!" Ian hissed, appalled. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named must…not be named!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ah, come on, Ian! That's his name. Voldemort."

Ian pulled away from Harry, horrified. His hands hovered around his ears as if they had been burned. "Stop it, Harry!"

Harry looked at his boyfriend in irritation. "Ian, don't be ridiculous. Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," he added, unwittingly quoting something Hermione had said to him ages ago. He pulled Ian's hands away from his ears and held them tightly, oblivious to the avid stares of hundreds of fascinated Hogwarts students. "Now listen to me, love. Are you listening? Good. _Voldemort._"

"Shut up, Harry! Just shut up!" Ian tried to pull his hands away but Harry was stronger and didn't relinquish his grip.

"No, Ian, I'm so sick of everyone doing this! It's time to face it. Voldemort, okay? Voldemort!"

Ian managed to break away. Angry and frightened, he got up and moved away from the bench.

"_Voldemort!" _Harry yelled furiously. A few students screamed and others gasped. Ian clapped his hands to his ears, shaking his head and watching Harry with pleading eyes. "Voldemort! Voldemort! The Dark Lord's name is _Voldemort!_ Do you understand, Ian? Does everyone here understand? _VOLDEMORT!_"

Harry glared at the people gaping at him. "You can't keep on living like this," he shouted, "trembling in fear every time someone says the Dark Lord's name! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Well, guess what! He _has_ been named--Voldemort! So the lot of you can just get used to it, because what with the war hanging over all our heads, he'll be around! _Voldemort_ will come, because he has risen, and if you can't get over this foolish fear, there's no hope for _any_ of us!"

"Mr. Potter! Will you please cease this disrupt—" But McGonagall may as well have been reprimanding herself, because Harry had stormed from the Great Hall.

The students fought to compose themselves after two unexpected outbursts in one night. Ian sat back down, face in his hands, guilty and ashamed. Across the room, Draco Malfoy stared, open-mouthed, at the space Potter had occupied only a few moments before. Several first years and even some older students were in hysterical tears.

"Ron…what's happening? I don't understand why Harry's being like this…where's…where's _our_ Harry?" Hermione whispered, close to tears herself.

Ron gathered his girlfriend close, eyes sad. "I don't know, Mione. I don't know."

Harry looked up at the Fat Lady, trying and failing to quell his rage. "Please?" he begged through clenched teeth. "I don't know the password, but I'm having a really bad day, I'm not feeling too well, and I just want to lie down."

"Oh, alright, dear," she relented, shaking her head disapprovingly. She swung aside, looking put out. "But just this once, and only because I'm so fond of you."

"Thanks a bunch," Harry snapped, and strode into the Gryffindor common room, startling a house elf still making last-moment preparations.

He made his way up to the boys' dormitory, fuming and muttering unsavory things under his breath. Flopping down onto his bed, he pulled the curtains closed, mumbled an unmovable charm, and knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight.

**A/N: Dammit! INCONSISTANCY! I'm pulling my hair out with frustration...which isn't good, because I'm going to dye it blue soon! (Woot, I'm excited about that!)**

**Response for the Reviews:**

**aznfyr: Thanks, and I certainly will.**

**doxie: Lol, Ian is NOT Voldemort, I assure you. And, in case you are very, very confused, Ian may be your cousin's name...but this Ian and that Ian are not one in the same. Thank you for your review!**

**Mera Philomela: Sorry to disappoint you, but Ian won't be in Slytherin...but neither will he be in Gryffindor, dun dun DUN. Lol. Read on, cha? And thanks!**

**Faren'sFowl: I will, I will. And thank you!**

**DanishGirl: You betcha. Thanks!**

**RandomnessDotCom: Thank you!**

**Raining Fire: MORE, just for you. Thanks!**

**Shadow of ZAFT: Despite all appearances, Ron and Hermione will be better friends than expected. I like Ron and Hermione, no matter how much I may bash them O.O Thanks for the review!**

**alyse: Thanks!**

**driven to insanity: Hope you had a merry Christmas as well, and I hope you like this chapter. Thank you!**

**Raven's Light: Ah, another review from my favorite reviewer! Quite the vivid picture you painted, running up to Ian and such. Heehee, talk to you later, Sam, and thanks!**

**oracale: Thanks!**

**Jerrika: Draco's reaction and more in this chapter! Thanks!**

**angelkitty77: Umm, no, there will not be a threesome in this one...sorry to disappoint you, lol. Eventually, Ian leaves the picture and Draco enters. I don't know about Ian-Blaise, but there will be someone for Ian--I'll make sure of it. Thanks!**

**Squirrelswillrule: O.O Sorry. Hmm, I dunno, I've dated girls with lip rings before and never had a problem kissing them. Eh, maybe I'm just uber accomodating. I have the perfect break-up scene in my mind, and to give you a little hint, the relationship ends because Ian's a bit of a coward...but that's all I can tell you for now. Thanks for your wonderful review!**

**dea puella: I'm sorry, I tried! I hope this chapter brings your opinion of my writing skills up a notch. Thanks!**

**LJMHarry: Well, the relatives are gone so I should be able to update somewhat regularly, when I'm not out and about with my friends. I got some cooool stuff for Christmas--the best of which were my long-coveted Rolling Stones t-shirts! Woo! And thanks for the review, of course! You're another one of my favorite reviewers!**

**Mistress Vamp: Of course--here you go, and thank you!**

**Jazz-Skywalker: I tried, lol. Thanks.**

**lita-2003: Harry does seem to be edging his way towards evil...but I'll pull him back from the brink, no worries. Thanks!**

**Okay, ta da and all that crap. Gosh, where are my cigarettes? Arrrg.**


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